365Caws is now in its 14th year of publication, and was originally intended to end after 365 days. It has sometimes been difficult for me to find new material, particularly during the winter months, but now as I enter my own twilight years, I cannot guarantee that I will be able to provide daily posts. It is my hope that along the way I may have inspired someone to a greater curiosity about the natural world. If so, I can rest, content in the knowledge that my work here has been done.
Sunday, February 16, 2014
Farmall 130
Day 137: Much of the Foothills Trail passes through farmland, and just east of Orting, it passes by what is either a junk yard or a cattle farm or a combination of the two. A wide variety of old vehicles and equipment is parked beside the barn and fence, everything from a "honey wagon" to decrepit semis, hay rakes, cultivators and a few hulk cars. There's a Farmall tractor near the barn, too far away for a decent picture even if I could isolate it from the junk surrounding it, a big tractor like you'd expect to see working in the field. Today, something "new" (and I use the word in the sense of "newly observed") caught my eye as I was walking: the smallest Farmall I have ever seen, just my size. Rusty, missing more pieces than it possessed, it still struck a chord with me. My daddy drove a Farmall. My memories of it are vague and largely stimulated by photographs taken before I was born, but I do recall riding on his lap one sunny afternoon, the dust and scent of dry hay rising around us in a cloud. There's a soft spot in my heart for these old red tractors, regardless of their size or condition (or perhaps because of it). Like a stray kitten, if this worn and weary waif followed me home, I'd find a spot where it could sleep in comfort and give it the love it deserves.
Labels:
Farmall,
Farmall 130,
Foothills Trail,
rust,
sepiatone,
tractor
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